


The Loneliest Moment in Someone's Life

by cocoacremeandgays



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, Bulimia, Depression, EDNOS, Eating Disorder, Eating Disorders, Fasting, Hopeful Ending, Introspection, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Purging, Suicidal Thoughts, Vomiting, ventfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:55:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29579208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cocoacremeandgays/pseuds/cocoacremeandgays
Summary: He doesn’t eat. Eating is a chore and he has enough of those. Why would he add more?((AKA: Kurapika isolates himself for the sake of his eating disorder.))
Relationships: Kurapika/Leorio Paladiknight
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	The Loneliest Moment in Someone's Life

**Author's Note:**

> “The loneliest moment in someone's life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.” — F. Scott Fitzgerald

Kurapika doesn’t care about his appearance. He’s obsessed.

He pinches his thighs and his sides and his biceps when he’s alone. He squeezes the flesh on his hips and pushes the skin under his jaw like that’ll make sense of his body. He doesn’t care about his appearance. He wants to change it. 

It’s the little things, the bridge of his nose and the shape of his ears. He doesn’t smile and he keeps his hair down.

It’s the big things, like his thighs and his stomach and his arms. It’s his torso and his fingers, his hands, his wrists. Long sleeves, clothing two sizes up, dark suits.

It’s all of him and it’s none of him at the same time. He doesn’t care about his appearance.

He doesn’t eat. Eating is a chore and he has enough of those. Why would he add more?

He thinks about a meal and automatically grabs a glass of water instead. He chugs it like that will stop his stomach from growling. He chews on ice to make it feel more real. He grabs another glass of water and chugs that down, too. He doesn’t add ice this time.

He’s never thirsty. He overloads himself on water. He’s over-hydrated. He throws up and it comes up clear. He’s tired from a lack of carbohydrates. He salivates at thoughts of sugar. He throws up instead of indulging. He pinches at his waist and clutches his wrists until they feel smaller. His nails are dry and they peel. They look like he has dragged them along a brick. They’re brittle and break, so he keeps them short. They keep themselves short.

He’s tired. His eyes burn at night. He does push ups and sit ups and crunches into the early morning. Training is his hobby. He sleeps for three hours before he’s too tired not to wake up. He stares at the ceiling. He doesn’t eat.

He finds eyes. They stare at him and watch him. They take in his appearance. With every pair he finds, he becomes a little more worthy of their gaze. He pinches under his jaw and tightens his belt. He gets a smaller belt. He pokes more holes into his belt. He’s earning it.

It’s a lot when seen all at once, but on a day-to-day basis, it’s very little. It’s as slight as breathing. He puts more effort into swallowing than thinking about what he’ll let himself eat, because he’ll let himself eat nothing. Not on days where he goes anywhere. Restaurants and eateries are trying to poison him.

He collects more eyes and prays for forgiveness.

He brushes his teeth and his gums bleed. He brushes his hair but it starts falling out. He puts in his contacts. His vision is blurry. He contemplates a prescription, but the thought launches him into a frenzy.

He gets angry that he can’t breathe. He gets angry that he can’t think. He gets angry that he shakes.

He throws away the crackers he bought at the supermarket. Three hours later, he digs them back out of the trashcan and eats them.

He crawls into bed and thinks about eyes. He pinches at his thighs and his waist and his arms. He grasps his wrists until they may break. He hugs his body to see how much of himself he can cover.

When he is naked in the shower and sitting on the floor, he wonders if those are really his legs.

He doesn’t eat. No one surrounding him cares enough to say anything. He doesn’t care enough to say anything. He doesn’t think it’s an option. It’s not an option. It was never an option. He’s not an option.

Leorio calls him. Leorio calls him again. Leorio calls him daily.

Leorio leaves a voicemail.

_Hey, it’s me. Call me back._

_Hey, it’s me. Let me know if you get this, you don’t have to call me._

_Hey, it’s me, could you at least text me one letter so I know you’re not dead?_

_What the hell is wrong with you? What are you doing that’s so important you can’t answer your damn phone? What the hell takes two years to do?_

_Do I really mean this little to you?_

_I’m starting to think you’re dead._

Every time Leorio calls, Kurapika grips his phone so hard it may break. His fingers may break. He may break. He listens to each voicemail over and over and over again. He has their lengths memorized. He has their dates and times memorized. As soon as they finish, he forgets what they say.

He searches up the cost of treatment, but it gets him nowhere. He doesn’t need it. He chews on his cuticles until they bleed. He clears his search history. He turns off his computer. He goes back to his phone. He counts the curves to every piece of Leorio’s phone number. He compares the last three digits to his weight.

He compares the last two digits to his weight.

He makes treks up and down the stairs. He haunts each creaking floorboard. When something groans, it’s cause and effect. He messes with the volume on his phone with every step he takes. He swears the creaking gets louder.

If his phone weighed more than his arm, he could tear himself apart.

Kurapika is too dizzy to stop. He turns and goes back down the stairs. He doesn’t take breaks. His heart tries to beat out of his chest. He rests a hand on his collarbone and waits for it to settle, even as he continues the descent.

He reaches the landing. He grips his wrist and waits for it to break.

He teeters on solid feet.

He squeezes his wrist harder. It doesn’t break. He is not yet worthy. He has not yet earned it.

Kurapika wakes up on the floor.

He stares at the ceiling. He’s tired. He goes to grab his wrist, but finds his phone already in his hand. He squeezes it.

He doesn’t care about his appearance. He just wants to disappear, but Leorio calls again.

This time, Kurapika answers.

**Author's Note:**

> my internet went out when i tried to post this. maybe it's a sign i shouldnt lol.
> 
> it's extremely important to get help if you or someone you know has an eating disorder.  
> talk to someone you trust and get the help you/they need.  
> eating disorder helpline:  
> +1 (800) 931-2237  
> https://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/help-support/contact-helpline
> 
> Suicide is never the answer.  
> hotline number, if needed:  
> 1-800-273-8255  
> you're not alone.  
> list of numbers for those outside of the usa:  
> http://www.suicide.org/suicide-hotlines.html
> 
> if you or someone you know is at immediate risk of harm, please contact the authorities in your area.  
> stay safe.
> 
> comments / feedback / constructive criticism; all is welcome


End file.
